i believe
by Acacia Thorn
Summary: "It just really sucks to be alone on Christmas."  ChrisClarisse.


**Author's Notes:** Oh, screw it. -.-" *totally didn't forget about the Deck The Halls challenge* **Dedicated to:** my closest-related family members (i.e., sisters, parents, nieces). So that'd be _Theia 47, storm-brain, Willful Destruction, Aventine Hill, LionessAmaya, Kaleidoscope Flowers, HallowedHallsOfWriting, asimplecritic, and … other additional people that I may or may not have forgotten ^^

* * *

_

**i **be**lie**ve

_(_or i lie_)

* * *

_

**the last.**

"Merry Christmas," he whispered to himself, the words bouncing off the mold-soaked walls and reverberating in his skull.

It wasn't a particularly nasty scene—the room wasn't trashy, the modern décor hadn't lost _all _of its shine—but it wasn't exactly wondrous either. Broken bottles littered the floor, while the smell of alcohol drifted lazily in the air. The windows and countertops were coated in multiple layers of dust. The furniture was ripped as if attacked by various creatures (which actually wasn't that far-off from the truth) and the entire place looked … shabby, for lack of a better word.

He took a swig of alcohol, bit down viciously on the head of a gingerbread man, and glared at the television, which was only showing him static, as compared to the holiday specials that _she_ used to loathe.

Pulling a cigarette lighter from his pocket, the man glared at a small collection of pictures—the ones he kept on the table near the front door. Lighting the pictures on fire—burning them from his memory—he muttered once more, "Merry Christmas," and doused them with water soon afterwards, teeming with regret.

He hated being alone. It reminded him of his time in the Labyrinth.

* * *

**the second-to-last.**

She glared at him from her spot by the bed, throwing her clothes and other possessions in a suitcase angrily. "Not anymore, Chris—I'm not doing this anymore. Not after that."

Chris grabbed her by the wrist, making her face him. "Would you just stop this, Clarisse? We both know that you're just being _stupid_—"

_Smack._

The red mark was still prominent on the left side of Chris's face when Clarisse jerked away, brown eyes afire and fists clenched tightly.

"_You_'re the one being stupid, Chris," she said coldly, turning back to the suitcase and slamming it shut.

Clarisse never was great with goodbyes.

* * *

**previously.**

Clarisse smiled at Chris, handing him a can of beer and clinking her glass of whiskey against it. She placed a kiss on his cheek—they were alone, so she was okay with sappy affections—and he smiled as she settled down next to him on the couch.

Clarisse took a long sip from her glass before leaning around Chris and grabbing the remote, changing the channel from Christmas specials to basketball.

He glanced at her curiously. "Why'd you do that?"

She grinned at him, shrugging nonchalantly. "Christmas specials are boring." She took a sip from his beer. "Do you _want_ to watch them?"

He shook his head, biting his tongue to keep from asking what kind of Christmas was devoid of Christmas shows.

* * *

**before that.**

She blushed furiously, looking at the sand and crumpling a corner of the picnic blanket in her hand. "Um … what did you just say?"

"I said 'I love you'."

Clarisse looked up slightly, though she still refused to meet his eyes. "And what am I suppose to say to _that_?"

He shrugged, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious. "I dunno. Maybe 'I love you, too'?"

She finally met his eyes, and he saw for the first time an unbearable amount of irritation. "What if I _can't_ say it back, idiot?"

Chris blinked, clearly affronted. "What do you mean, you _can't_?"

She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips, holding him close and mumbling in his ear, "I can't—not yet."

* * *

**preceding that.**

Chris glanced, against his will, at the girl in front of him, as she tried to find the rest of her clothes.

"Clarisse," he mumbled, and she straightened to face him.

"Yes?"

"Clarisse," he repeated, slowly approaching her and wrapping his arms around her wide waist. "Is this all we're going to be?"

She glanced up at him, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sighed, placing his forehead against hers, despite the fact that she hated this position—too movie-like for her tastes. "Crazed sex—lust. Sure, we act like a couple, but can't we be—more?"

She frowned, considering, and after a long moment, she mumbled, "I can try, Chris—I can try."

* * *

**after the last.**

The doorbell rang—a loud, harsh sound, compared to the rasps of his alcohol-tainted breaths.

"It's open," he said in a whisper, and then, louder, "It's open!"

The door came crashing open; it took all of his self control to keep from jumping a foot in the air. "Who—who is it?"

The voice that answered belonged to a demonic angel. "Chris, I just came by to say … happy Christmas."

This was an uncharacteristic move, even for her, ever the dynamic girl. "Why the hell're you here?" he demanded, not look up from his drink.

She sunk down into the chair next to him, swiping a sip from his drink.

"It just really sucks to be alone on Christmas."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Meh. It sucked, but I wrote it in roughly half an hour, so gimme a break. *sniffs* It also barely makes the word count, but frankly, I don't give a damn. Hmph.


End file.
